Tuesday, 15 May 2018

Prose 500 2018 Longlist

Prose 500 Winners
Sohini Ghosh        Gomathi Mohan       
Shivani Dua          Swatilekha Roy     
Vaidyanathapuram Shankar     Bindu Saxena

The Missing Pensioner by Sohini Ghosh
When I couldn’t find Mrs. Sen in the queue of pensioners for the third consecutive month, I was disappointed. She was a jovial old woman who treated us bank staff like her children. The sombre mood of the office would lit up every time the youthful old lady would enter. Her son, Prabhat, started coming instead, carrying the required documents with his mother’s thumbprints. On asking him, I learnt that she had fallen ill and had been advised bed rest. I sighed. Old age was finally catching up on her.

One evening, I happened to be in the same area in which Mrs. Sen resided. I thought of visiting her and asking about her health.
I bought a bouquet from a local florist and asked him her house number. He pointed behind him towards a pale green apartment with identical windows and said, “The one with the freezer.” That was a weird identifier, I thought as I moved towards it. As I came closer to the apartment, I indeed saw a freezer on one of the windows. Without giving much thought, I entered the building and took an elevator to the second floor.

A young woman answered the door. She said she was the senior Mr. Sen’s nurse and asked me to wait on enquiring about Prabhat and Mrs. Sen.
When I was left alone I went to the bedroom hoping to find Mrs. Sen there. But it was empty. I went to the other room though I never expected her there as that was the room with the freezer.
To my amazement, there was not one freezer but two freezers kept next to each other. They were huge in size and were continuously making a buzzing sound lending an eerie and uncomfortable feel to the otherwise quiet house. I checked behind me. There was nobody. I tiptoed to the first freezer and held its handle. My heart was pounding as I pulled it open.
I took a deep breath. It was empty.

I then turned towards the other freezer. I felt like a burglar but I had to check inside. Praying to God, I opened the door. I almost shrieked when I saw what was inside.
The naked and yellow body of Mrs. Sen was seated inside the freezer.

My head was spinning. I wanted to vomit. I somehow pulled myself and shut close the freezer.
I ran towards the door when something stopped me. There was something about the body. Something weird. Something different. I turned back. I opened the freezer again. I raised the lifeless arm of Mrs. Sen and saw her fingers. Her thumb had a blue ink stain.
I heard the nurse returning with Prabhat. I closed the freezer again and ran out of the house wondering why the second freezer was kept.
Without waiting for the elevator, I sprinted down the stairs. Just as I was about to hail a taxi, I bumped into the senior Mr. Sen.

Going To School by Gomathi Mohan
Schooling Is An Endless Cycle – I Just Need To Make It Through This Week. Every week.
This poster on the wall, met Mrs. Mistry’s eyes, as she entered Emad’s room.
“Pesar beta! Get up, it’s six already! You’ll be late again.” It had become a daily ritual for the past two weeks. Maybe a new city, new school and a co-ed one at that, needed more time to acclimatize! 

”Shall I skip today, just one day Maman… pleeease!! ” His sleepy voice pleaded as he wrapped his quilt tighter around.
”Emad Aaojo! No bahaana… Heated your bathwater, coffee is waiting. Making French toast for breakfast.” A ruse that seemed to always work.
Crawling half-heartedly out of his warm haven, he stepped out. 

A steaming mug of coffee revved him. In another half an hour he was ready. The hot fluffy french toasts glistening rich with butter, topped with maple syrup doubled up his appetite.
Wiping his hands on his Maman’s apron, he quickly put his shoes and waited for her to assist with the necktie. ”Hmm… How much will you make your Maman slog? This one last time!”
While tying, she noticed a worried look in his eyes. ”What’s the matter Emad?”
Seeing anxiety in her eyes, he started slowly,” It’s the girls and boys at school, Maman. Real bullies!”

”Arrey that’s all? Come on, you can handle!”
”You don’t know, how much fun they make of my height and head.”
“No, no, Pesar beta. You are just a bit challenged, vertically. It’s not your fault. As for your head, I have only seen wise people carrying it.”
Oh, it’s the winter blues! Thought Maman. 

“Give them some time, Pesar. Am sure once they know you, will love you! Here, take your bag, the driver is waiting.”
Both Mrs. Mistry’s breath and patience were by now wearing out. Sensing his Waterloo, Emad dragged his feet, lugging his bag to the waiting car. He nodded to the driver’s ‘Good morning Baba’. Bade a half-hearted goodbye to his mother. 

A silent ten minute drive took them through winding roads,  as the flower laden trees and early morning freshness, crisp with the winter bite flew past. Emad was lost in thought when the huge imposing gates came into view. His heart sank as the car rolled through the iron gates.
He could hear the bell going as he shuffled along the garden path, up the porch and the never ending corridor that led to the auditorium for the morning assembly.

The layers of clothes, sweater and a blazer weighed him down. He trudged the foyer to the entrance door.
The school had assembled and there was pin-drop silence. Calming his nerves, he measured his steps heavily up the dias to the podium where the address system lay. Taking the mike, he addressed the school, ‘Good Morning children! ‘
The whole school chorused in unison to wish back Emad Mistry, The Principal of Arav Valley International.

The Mermaid by Shivani Dua
A streak of light was sneaking through the window of my room. I peeped through the window and saw a mermaid down the street. She was walking gracefully, carrying a plethora of colours spread on her palette. My eyes followed her majestic gait which had left me spell bound and fascinated. I felt blessed for being considered worthy to behold this fantasy. I closed my eyes and thanked the streak of light for making me meet my muse. 

I exclaimed,’ Oh! A lovely feast to the eyes. How has this lovely mermaid come here? Has she lost her way?’ I was suddenly jerked out of my reverie by my sister,’ ‘Hey! What’s up?’ she asked. I replied,’ Oh dear! Nothing special.’ ‘But you were mumbling something, why were you speaking to yourself?’ she enquired. I just smiled as my reply to her query. How could I reply when I myself was not in a position to explain what I was going through? She glanced at my face, looked down and again looked at me. She failed to decipher anything. Her suspicious glance had put me in a fix. Thankfully, she was called by mother. 

She went down leaving me again with my mermaid and my train of thoughts. I looked down. The mermaid was still there but what I failed to notice earlier was her bare, soiled feet moving on the rough road in the scorching sun and her tattered dress (that flowing long skirt which bestowed on her that perfect mermaid look) showing her poverty peeping from various spots of her body. The plethora of colours were actually the colourful balloons to lure the kids so that they could persuade their parents to buy them one and the mermaid could get something to eat with the money received. I ran down to meet her. 

When she saw me gazing at her, she asked, ‘Do you want to buy one?’ Her sweet voice had a velvety touch. I fumbled for words and just gave a nod. I gave her all the money I had in my pocket. She was shocked, may be she thought I was an eccentric .She returned me the balance amount which I refused to take. To this she reacted rather sternly-’I will charge the exact amount not more not less. I hate sympathy,’ she said. This time I could not refuse and took the money back. She looked at me and said, ‘Whatever I earn I do that with my hard work and will continue doing that no matter come what may.’ 

She took her colourful palette and went away, leaving me speechless. My whole world of colours and illusions came shattering down as I was smitten with reality. Despite being bare footed, she had a firm foothold on reality. It wasn’t she who had lost her way (as I had thought earlier). Rather it was me who was groping in dark and needed guidance. I went back to my room. The streak of light was gone perhaps finding some other window to sneak in.

A Mountain Wish by Swatilekha Roy
Mountains, blue skies, silk clouds and herds of conifers swishing with the breeze – Kashmir has it all, and we were here to see it. Vipul was the one sponsoring this trip, as he had gotten his dream job abroad last year; I had started pursuing a degree in Marine Biology in the Nicobar Islands. Neha, my eldest cousin, had divorced her drunk, know-it-all husband just a month ago, and we couldn’t be prouder of her. This trip had been our childhood dream, and we were overwhelmed!

We reached Sonamarg in late afternoon. With countless flowers and spans of green grazed upon by wild ponies; the “Meadow of Gold” was no misnomer. We rented horses and started down the narrow dust road toward Thajiwas Glacier. The horsemen were friendly mountain boys, who told us about the weather and brown trout in the river in broken Hindi. They waited as we sledded and played in the snow like kids. To our surprise, one of them named Thimbu even invited us to spend the night with them. He offered us a cheaper rate than the nearby hotels, and despite Vipul’s protests, we agreed.

Thimbu’s humble house in the foothills, with Nallah Sindh gushing past it, was picturesque. Pashmina draped floors and the aroma of barbeque made it feel homey. His parents were overjoyed to have guests. Mani, his little sister, gave us tubs of warm water. After freshening, we helped Thimbu and his father, Kachum, collect firewood.

Over dinner of grilled cauliflower and barley bread, Kachum told us how they travel down to Srinagar during winter, when Sonamarg is covered in snow. We listened in awe. These mountain people lived without Internet access, room heaters, and other conveniences that we take for granted, yet they were so content. Sitting on the narrow terrace, we stared at innumerable stars studding the magnificent sky like bright denizens of an inky night. Nearby, Mani was munching the coffee bites we had given her.

Suddenly, our eyes fell on a shooting star in the north sky, and we exchanged our wishes. Thimbu blushed, saying that he wished to see the sea; Mani wished for more coffee bites. On coaxing, Neha revealed that she had imagined her ex-husband without his moustache. I wished that I would discover a new species of sea life sometime in the future.
Ultimately, workaholic, Internet-loving Vipul’s answer surprised us the most. “I wished we could stay here forever!”

The Unreserved Compartment by Vaidyanathapuram Shankar
It was almost midnight as the train to Cochin approached a station somewhere near Salem.
The three-tier unreserved compartment in which teenage brothers Sam and Jose were travelling was crowded as usual, except somehow one small area or cubicle in front of the boys.
“Do you know why that area is empty always?” whispered Sam to Jose. Before Jose could answer, their mom hushed them up and asked them to go to sleep. At the same time, the train chugged to a halt at the small unassuming station.
Arun was perspiring hard as he was running alongside the train looking for a seat in the crowded unreserved compartments. The halt time available was very short as it was a very minor station. Just as Arun was giving up in frustration, he saw the empty area in the compartment and got in happily.

As the train moved out, Arun made preparations to lie down, thankful for this oasis of emptiness among the crowd. Though his part of the coach was dark due to malfunctioning lights, he was happy to rest his tired body after a hard day at work.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he was startled to find a pair of eyes staring at him in the darkness from the seat opposite him. Though it was quite darkish, he could see the pair of eyes quite clearly. Though he found it eerie and a bit disconcerting in the general darkness, he said, “Hi!”

A voice emanated from the other side as the ‘eyes’ responded, “Going far, huh?”
“No, I need to get down at Erode,” said Arun.
“Don’t worry, doze off sir, I will wake you since it’s still more than a couple of hours away. Anyway I don’t intend to sleep.”

Though Arun was usually very wary of such assurances from strangers, he was overpowered by sleep and dozed off. Suddenly, he was woken up very rudely by his fellow traveler, “Wake up, wake up, no time to lose, sir! The train is about to leave your destination.”
Arun looked outside but it was total darkness and could see nothing at all.

Erode station without power! Quite unbelievable, but there was no time to wonder about this.
“Quick sir, the train has already started!”
If time had permitted, Arun would have noticed an eagerness and strange excitement in his co-traveler’s voice. But he had sadly no time to even think. The train had started moving slowly.
As Arun stepped out over the small bridge in total darkness, right into the gushing waters of a small canal, he heard raucous and almost violent laughter from his fellow traveler.
Next morning, Sam started telling Jose, “They say a guy once jumped out of this train somewhere near Erode, from the area next to us; that’s why people avoid that part of the compartment.”
Before he could explain further, mom shouted, “Don’t scare the young boy with all stupid tales…”

It starts with me walking around to an award function. I was part of a strange crowd of people, pictures, frames and colours. I pass through a huge glass enclosure. I try to touch the mesmerizing curtains but these continue to elude me. Its prism-like effect stuns me.
The lights blink for a fraction. As the flashes return, my eyes see someone seated on an exquisite throne. The face was his. The eyes were his. The stance was his, and all that I saw belonged only to him. His eyes sparkled as always. His attire was one that he wore at Eliot Park – the place we met last.

I could see his right profile: A part of his glasses, the side of his shapely nose; the lips that I longed to kiss, and the cheek I wanted to touch softly. I wondered if he still has that prominent mole on his left cheek because that view was not in my vision territory. I had a quick peek at his hand that used to caress me. The cufflinks sent constant glitters and a portion of his favorite white shirt were all that I set my eyes on.
It felt like an Easter feast.

My heart raced. It was bubbling with constant desire. I was back in times when I fell in love with this erudite through an uncanny incident and our friendship elevated to a next level. Alas! It turned transcontinental and was left to open ending…
Oblivious of my presence, he sits with an undivided attention. This brilliant evening happens on a sky high terrace. The venue had richness in awesomeness with a complete out of the world experience!
Equipment and services were all under a remote control operation. The elevators would read your business card and decide if you were privileged to enter!
The evening ended with his introduction. Thunderous applause followed. Suddenly I hear my name being announced. My feet began to take off. I sensed I could fly. Amidst sparkles and illumination I fly like an American Goldfinch. I stand before him in complete amazement. It was a brilliance of panorama with my name emblazoned all around in air, flashing our puppy-love pictures.
Our teary eyes meet as he holds me in an inseparable hug. We become a couple. Walking in the aisle, there were showers of celebrations. Tulips and Red Roses wrapped us in. The gates to the glorious
Presidential Suite open.
His scent waffles in the room and I try to find my feet…
Bindu Saxena

Prose 300 2018 Longlist

Prose 300 Winners
Drishti Nagdeo         Anila Mathew Vivek            Shloka Shankar        
Swatilekha Roy        Vaidyanathapuram Shankar

Rains by Drishti Nagdeo
If there’s something that can calm down the biggest of all storms, bring a smile on the saddest of all faces, or, beautify the disheveled, it is rains. It is purely divine. How confidently it assures that there is always respite after the scorching heat, euphoria after sadness! Rains make the trees greener than ever, the roads cleaner than ever, music and a cup of hot tea soothing than ever. It is a lullaby to the drowsy, a song to the dancer, music to the singer, romance to the lover, and, inspiration to the writer. Oh, what is it that the rains can’t do? It gives joy to the sad, relief to the tensed, hope to the disabled, and, belief to the incredulous. It assures a way to the confused and warmth of feeling to the cold. To be able to do a task, there must be willingness. Rains provide willingness to complete the tasks we’ve forever wanted to do but didn’t. Such is its beauty. Such is its charm. It can comfort the depressed. If the shattered still hopes, it is because of the rains. If magic and miracles have meaning, it is because of the rains.

Grief/Relief by Anila Mathew Vivek
Raman waited for the crows to arrive. The family clapped their hands and soon crows did eat the sacrificial offering. All agreed that Dakshayini Amma’s soul was indeed at peace.
Her only son Raman had performed all his duties in a dignified way, while his wife had ministered to her mother-in-law satisfactorily. The two grandchildren and spouses duly arrived for the well-attended funeral. All the arrangements had befitted the status of the family.
Raman looked at a nephew who was leaving for office after the ceremonies. On the spur of the moment, Raman called out: “Hey ! Wait up !”

He strode quickly while his wife looked inquiringly. Ignoring all questioning glances, Raman walked up panting to the young fellow, impatiently glancing at his mobile. “What is it Ramu ammava(uncle)? I am getting late for office…”

“Can you take me back home?” asked the bereaved son. Taken aback, his nephew answered puzzled, “But right now? Aren’t you all returning together?”
“No!” came the vehement reply. “I want you to take me on this bike-” replied his uncle. Raman lovingly stroked the machine.

Ceding to the unusual demand, his nephew gave him the mandatory helmet. As the bewildered family watched, Raman rode pillion with an unfathomable expression. Raman savoured the breeze, the jerks of the ride and the feel of the helmet, still wearing the wet mundu.

The only child of his parents, the precious heir had been kept away from all things “risky”; no riding bikes, no working away from home, no playing sports, no travelling…

The burden of love had been lifted. Instead of crushing grief, there was a sense of relief.

Saturday (A haibun) by Shloka Shankar
For as long as I can remember, I’ve more often than not met those special to me on a Saturday. Maybe it’s the convenience of a weekend or maybe it’s how it’s meant to be. I’ve not analysed it to death. At least, not yet. But it makes you think, doesn’t it? You look forward to that moment when everything arranges itself as if by magic and time slips past you in liquid anticipation. The small talk closes in on you and you’re worried about what to say next. How do you make yourself sound larger than you are? And then you realize you don’t need to. Here, it’s okay to not think, to lower your guard, be whole, be vulnerable, to just breathe.
                                                        heart sutra        untying the fabric of my universe

Bitter by Swatilekha Roy
These unending fields of plenty speak nothing of the girl with that sparkle in her eyes.  This is Idukki district of Kerala, where dreams get crushed faster than the traditional coffee beans it’s renowned for. They do talk of the boy, with skin darker than chocolate, who got lost in the web of his expectations. ‘The boy who wandered’, they call him.

To wander is to sway. To expect is to dare! Here, the world is oblivious of dares. The burden of an ancestral occupation sits heavy on its tilted back.

'The bitter, the better,' they prune leaves and sing in unison- men and women united by a common destiny. A destiny that sustains! Although, just. Now, it’s a disgrace that the girl, with kohl eyes and a spring to her walk, should think otherwise. Doesn’t she realise how shallow dreams are? Why does she ask them about the seven seas and poetry?

They listen as she sings off tune and whispers to the moon. “I’ll touch you. Someday.” The moon whispers back, when they aren’t peering. One day, just like the rest, her dreams will have blended with cold regret, as she keeps brewing endless warm pleasures for cocaine lovers over the world.

An Ex-Convict’s Tale by Vaidyanathapuram Shankar
Jaggu stepped out to freedom and inhaling the fresh air, looked around for his wife or teenage son. It was a great feeling- this freedom after the long spell in jail.

No one was in sight. He had so fondly waited for this moment, to meet his dear wife and only son. They were quite understandably angry at his criminal actions and hadn’t come to meet him during his jail confinement. But he really had hoped for their forgiveness, and presence here today.

As he trudged along disappointed, he saw Raghav, the last man he wished to see then. He sweated profusely as he saw Raghav approach him with rapid strides. ‘I am finished!” he thought, since Raghav was the man he had assaulted and also was the reason for his incarceration.

“Go ahead, Raghav, do it fast… Kill me!” said Jaggu, resignedly.
Raghav shrugged and said, “I could have done that long back if I wanted.”

Then he continued, “Believe me if you can; I am here to take you to my house, because your kin do not want you anymore. You may check with them, if you wish before coming with me.”
Jaggu, the hardened convict, wept for the first time in his life.

Drabble Microfiction 2018 Longlist

Drabble 2018 Winners
Divya Garg           Gitanjali Maria            Shloka Shankar          
Drishti Nagdeo      Lakshmi Venkatesh       Mauli Joshi            
Rianne Samuel      Ruchika Pahwa     Shobhana Kumar               Sudha Viswanathan      Swatilekha Roy      
Vaidyanathapuram Shankar           
Sohini Ghosh       Bhupendra Kumar Dave

Echo Effect by Divya Garg
The day of Navratri, purity in the air. Incense sticks and vibrant Diya flames brought the perfect illumination and calmness in the room that can made one stay in room just a little longer. The chanting and hymns started since early morning, to get it completed before son leaves for office. Mother beautifully draped in the hue of orange, and Father elegantly dressed in the beige color kurta pajama.
A whoosh of air, reverberant sound just crossed their son.
Are you there?
Are you there, Aunty?
Was it someone calling his mother or was it auditory hallucination?

Every day Musings by Gitanjali Maria
I looked out of the window. There were people scurrying to reach their workplaces, cars honking and drivers cursing for more space and speed. I wondered whether they are always like this, angry and impatient. Maybe not, maybe yes. It all depended on where you were in the hierarchy. The car driver scoffs at the auto-rickshaw driver, the security guard brandishes the Uber driver, the young executive scorns at the security guard, the manager shouts at the young executive and client VP at the manager. All of us wearing different masks and changing them as per the requirements of the role. After all, isn’t life a stage!

Fraandships by Shloka Shankar
(A haibun)
“Do you have trouble sustaining friendships?”
“All the time, in fact.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Someone told me I’m emotionally maturer than my peers. That could be it.”
“Do you sometimes find yourself at a loss to describe how you feel?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“It’s at the heart of everything. Do you ever express yourself?”
“Only when I can’t take it anymore and the pressure starts to build.”
“I see.”
“Do you, really?”
waiting the wait a few hundred visualizations

The Moon Replied by Drishti Nagdeo
I asked the moon, “how is it that I can’t take my eyes off you?” The moon chuckled, saying, “Darling, it’s I who had fallen for you in the first place. Those eyes, the way they smiled to me, that sparkle, made me fall for you”.
Astounded, I asked, “then?”
“Then, I had to use my magic. I had to make sure that those eyes searched for me every night. It was me who made you turn thrice. When you started going, I held you with all my might.”
“That could be the best misuse of magic,” murmured the selenophile.

Pain by Lakshmi Venkatesh
My heart broke, not that she screamed to rip my self-respect, but, she dishonoured my robe with comments that almost dismantled the hopes, that I had collected, to be with my better half. I had just begun my life and she had almost finished halfway. What’s so wrong to tease the small stain that any womanhood, would have got? Why to comment so ruthlessly and laugh with the unknown, of the phase that she too went through!
I realised then, her end is going to be tough…
                                  “AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP”
                                            (END WAS TOUGH… RESPECT YOUR SOUL)

Youthful Experience by Mauli Joshi
“Long live the king, longer live the queen,” hailed the crowds.
“Why would you live longer than me, my dear,” asked the still na├»ve king.
The queen whose juvenility was the talk of the town replied, “it’s the game of chess my lord, where the king can win if the queen lives the longest.”
“Does that mean they want me to live –”
The obstinate queen interrupted, “Can the Kingdom live without its king?”
Her parlance had often dissolved the doubts of many.
Can the queen live without her king?
Two drops of venin in the king’s goblet was the answer.

The Swing Chair by Rianne Samuel
The whistle of the kettle pulled her back to the present. She quickly picked herself up from the swing chair that was carefully placed near the window sill. Jack fixed the swing chair himself. After pouring a cup of tea for herself, she went back to the window sill. That’s where she did all her thinking. The hot cup of chamomile tea, in some way, helped with the tiredness. After all, the funeral preparations had drained her out. The house fell silent once more; the love of her life was gone. Memories now took over her consciousness again.

The Outline by Ruchika Pahwa
“Hey, I want to read that story,” demanded Harry, pointing in the direction where Rachel was sitting on a sofa chair.
She replied, “It’s just an outline. There are many fine details to work on. You know, authors have to fill colors in their story’s outline before they can hand it over to readers. It’s like you filling colors in your paintings.” Rachel said with a faint smile.
Harry came closer, looked at her draft, and looked up, “Take a break, Rachel. I want to read ‘your’ story.”
“It’s an outline, Harry.”
“I’ll fill it with shining colors,” said Harry.

First class by Shobhana Kumar
She has survived, alright. Eight years, a hundred thousand miles and counting. Her seats hide a million memories—spilt coffee, profound conversations with fifteen-year-olds, drenched-in-sweat-evening trips from football, the anger of rejections, the blushes from crushes, long silences, one hell of a lot of swearing (alone, of course,) notes to self and even some poetry.
Today, eyes well. For the first time her scars are visible. Depreciation, they call it.

The Proposal by Sudha Viswanathan
Unable to withstand the stampede in the crowded bus, the fragile strap of my sandals ripped apart. Limping my way, I reached the restaurant where I was to meet my prospective groom for the first time.
An hour with no sign of the guy, I limped my way back to the auto stand and reached home only to find my parents waiting with an anxiety writ countenance.
“The guy called up to say that we had cheated him. He says you are lame. Apparently he had seen you limping.” I smiled as I realised that ‘Marriages were made in Heaven.’

Burn by Swatilekha Roy
I had fished them out without conviction. Photographs of a stranger, posing with the sun in her hair, sea in her eyes, and the universe in her smile. Asha, who was scared of monsters.
“I love you, Asha”, I told the mirror with conviction.
My acid burns did what they always do: burn.

The God Man by Vaidyanathapuram Shankar
Arun recognized him immediately… No room for any doubt.
The ‘God man’ started his usual sales pitch unsuspectingly, pleading for some cash or kind for the needy. He showed no signs of recognition, nor could he have possibly remembered Arun.
Arun, curbing the seething anger building up, heard him out and told him, “Sorry, can’t really help you now.”
“Sir, please try to give something, whatever you can spare.”
Arun drove the blade of the pen knife into the abdomen of the man who was walking free after molesting Arun’s sister, declaring,
“Sorry, this is all I have now!”

The Hand by Sohini Ghosh
It was not the usual kind of hand. It was exceptionally soft with innumerable number of lines patterned intricately all over the palm. The nails had been shapely cut but there was no polish. That was unfortunate.
But what intrigued me most about the hand was the enormous ring on the forefinger. The diamond shaped ring head was covering half of the middle finger.
I stopped examining the hand and tenderly wiped the blood dripping from it before hanging it on my wall. The space in the centre was finally filled. It was now time to work on the corners.

God by Bhupendra Kumar Dave
A scientist being proud of his recent achievements, approached God and said, ‘Listen, we can now do all kinds of things. We no longer need you.’
God heard him patiently and smiled, ‘Think well before I vanish.’
‘Yes,’ he replied curtly.
Seeing the image of God vanishing, he said, ‘Now man is supreme.’ But then he saw his laboratory gradually disappearing. He collapsed. He felt as if he was floating in space. He tried to look below before losing his consciousness. There was nothing — even his body that he loved so much had vanished. He was dead.

Haiku 2018 Longlist

Haiku Winners & Featured Writers
Vandana Parashar      Aditi Mahajan      Bindu Saxena           Debjeet Mukherjee     Divya Garg       Anila Mathew Vivek        Jagari Mukherjee      Javeria Kausar      Likha George              Shivani Dua            Shloka Shankar    Shobhana Kumar             Vaidyanathapuram Shankar     Drishti Nagdeo

forest retreat
the brook in step
with wren’s song

Vandana Parashar

Moonlit night
Horns singing, starry headlights
Lovers crash

Aditi Mahajan

I smelt the flowers
Licked what butterfly had to
What else would I do?

Bindu Saxena

Middle of nowhere;
Few red flowers and green thorns,
Not rose but cactus!

Debjeet Mukherjee

Smiles in old age
Enclosing tiny finger
Rechargeable life

Divya Garg

But will the rose tints
Be scraped away like fish scales
Reliving heartache

Anila Mathew Vivek

Sapphire butterflies
like memories in a jar
color the skies blue

Jagari Mukherjee

Calm, tranquil water
with bodies in its belly-
Engulfing mirror

Javeria Kausar

Katua Baby
Motley demons straggle her
Violated and bashed to death
Baby, I cry hoarse for thee.

Likha George

Pangs of grief gripping tight,
Tears bring relief

Shivani Dua

en plein air the redness of birdsong

Shloka Shankar

moon craters our fights like a sickle

Shobhana Kumar
The martyr sees self
Lying still, covered with wreaths,
Guns booming salute.

Vaidyanathapuram Shankar

Like tea,
The moon soothes me; like the sea,
It moves the poet inside me.

Drishti Nagdeo